


Dreams Are Growing Wild

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Happy Feelings to be clear, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Shaving Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <cite>Finn may have underestimated just how strange, and antsy, and downright <b>cranky</b> Poe can get when he's irreversibly grounded.</cite>
</p><p><cite>Now he's complaining about, of all things, his facial hair.</cite><br/>How to pass the time when you've crashlanded on a dwarf moon and are awaiting retrieval and are sick of insect collecting.</p><p>(Inspired by <a href="https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/4613.html?thread=11150597#cmt11150597">this kinkmeme prompt</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams Are Growing Wild

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @savvymavvy for pointing out that while it's not a Friday until Finn gets rimmed, Poe *also* makes a very appreciative recipient of the oral attention.
> 
> Title from Tom Waits, "Burma-Shave". 
> 
> Thanks to G. for beta.

After crashing during an escape from one of the Talon Gang splinter cells, Finn and Poe have been stuck on this dwarf moon for over a standard week. Finn's doing just fine, all told; he hikes about ten kilometers every morning, just about completely around the equator, bathes in the sulfurous waterfall, and spends the rest of his time preserving some of the bizarre native insects and catching up on his reading. BB-8 is well-stocked with classic literature, thanks to one of Poe's aunties being an info-engineer who never lets up in her mission to make him a reader.

Poe, however. Poe's not holding up that great. He broke his shoulder in the crash. Without bacta immersion, Finn had to set the break and bind it up. After the first night, Poe refused all painkillers, so he has been chronically out of sorts, then overly apologetic when he realizes how he sounds.

He's getting a little better about that. Finn knows it's the pain and the fact that he blames himself for the crash, for them being stuck here for the next while, but it was still hard to take.

In fact, Finn may have underestimated just how strange, and antsy, and downright _cranky_ Poe gets when he's irreversibly grounded.

Now he's complaining about, of all things, facial hair.

"You look great, I don't see the problem," Finn replies when he's finished eating the midday meal. He's not simply being conciliatory; he wouldn't know how, first of all, and, secondly, Poe does look wonderful. His beard is a compelling spectacle, just as fine and silky, dark and full of curves as the hair on his head. It softens his face slightly, makes his eyes seem all the bigger and brighter.

"I look like an Ewok with gigantism," Poe says, scowling. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"I'll take care of it," Finn tells him, filling up the spare basin with river water and getting the emergency supplies kit out.

" _How_?"

Finn tilts his head as he drops to one knee to study Poe's face. "I'll shave it? Do you know some other way?"

"No, you know what, I'm fine, we can work with this, let's just let it keep growing." Poe scoots back on his ass, ducking Finn's hand as it reaches for him. "Maybe you could grow yours in! The beard twins they'll call us, it'll be our thing. We can braid them for special occasions."

"Quiet, you," Finn tells him, pinching Poe's chin and lifting it. He looks Poe over, almost like he's searching for something, then clucks his tongue once, nods, and releases his hold. "I can totally do this."

"Try to be a little more sure?"

Finn jostles Poe's good shoulder as he reaches into the supply bag. "I'm sure."

"You don't sound sure."

"Poe, man --" Finn stands up, empty-handed, and shakes his head. "I don't have to do this. Just let it grow, what's the worst that could happen?"

Poe looks away, chewing his lip, mumbling.

"Sorry, what?" Finn makes a show of leaning in and cupping his ear. "Let me have that again?"

"It itches-I hate it-make it _stop_ ," Poe says in a single breath. He looks back at Finn, eyes wide, almost stricken. "It's killing me."

Finn tries to stop laughing and fails. "You've crashed how many times?"

"Seven officially," Poe mutters. "Maybe a couple more unofficially."

"Maybe _a lot_ more unofficially," Finn points out. "And you've been in how many bacta tanks?"

"A lot." He squints, trying to add it up, and finally shrugs. "Too many."

"We won't bother counting hand-to-hand and fistfights. But it's the _beard_ that's killing you?"

"Yes. It's the sithspawn of Kylo Ren and Snoke, incubated in Palpatine's fossilized scrotum. This beard is killing me, Finn." He says it absolutely sincerely, not blinking, then drops his voice and adds, "Help me."

"Yeah," Finn says. "You have to help me help you, though."

Frowning, Poe draws a little ways back. "Like how?"

"Like stop fidgeting. Like stop bobbing and ducking. Like, oh, I don't know. _Hold still_." 

"But it itches."

"It's going to get better," Finn says, dropping back down to his knees, "but you have to be patient."

"I hate patience."

Finn pats Poe's knee and chuckles a little. "I've noticed, believe me." 

Poe's frown shifts, elaborates into something at once fiercer and baffled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Finn holds the collapsible basin of water over BB-8's fire-arm, then soaks his nightshirt in the water. He crawls a little up between Poe's legs and places the wet shirt on Poe's face. That it covers his mouth is, surely, a coincidence.

"Hold that there," he tells Poe, and turns back to the kit. They have everything two humanoid males are deemed to require, from synth condoms to lice treatment. He mixes up the soap in what's left of the warm water.

Poe is sitting there _staring_ at Finn. When Finn guides Poe's hand downward, taking the shirt with him, Poe doesn't move. He's nearly trembling with the resolve to stay both quiet and still. The closest Finn ever got to childcare was tending a brood of sewer dragons, the kind that live in the waste disposal systems, that had lost their mother. Despite that, he gets a sudden, intense pang of sympathy for whoever had to raise Poe. The man's lips are almost white with effort.

"Doing great," Finn tells him as he starts swirling the thick, foamy soap over Poe's cheeks. "Really good."

Poe tips his head back slightly, eyes still wide. He gulps and his Adam's apple bobs against the inside of Finn's wrist.

"I've done this a lot, by the way," Finn continues, cleaning off his hands and reaching for the hunting knife. "We had a CO who made all his officers get daily shaves. Guess who did it."

"Mnnnf!" Poe lets out at the sight of the knife; he tries to scramble back, but he's already up against the wreckage they've been sheltering under.

"It's sharper than the razors," Finn tells him. "Don't worry."

"No fucking way --" Poe stops to spit out the soap now getting into his mouth. "Finn!"

"I know what I'm doing."

"I know _you_ do, but you know what a knife knows how to do? Cut! _That's_ what I'm afraid of."

"If I use the razor, it's going to grow back faster and rougher and we'll be right back here sooner."

"Yeah, but --" Poe spits out soap again, then seems to give in. He moves a little closer to Finn, his shoulders slumping. "You're so reasonable."

"Thank you," Finn says. "I think that's a compliment."

"It is. Definitely." That Poe sounds mildly _disconsolate_ about that fact is something Finn's going to ignore.

"Hold still." Finn tips Poe's chin up farther and slides the knife up his throat. He does it slowly but surely, holding his breath for the length of the stroke, feeling the hair tug on, try to slow, the blade's advance. He rinses the knife after each stroke, turning Poe this way and that, until he's done all of the neck area and the left side of Poe's face.

He'd forgotten what this is like, how pleasant such intense focus on such trivial matters can be. Skin's so fragile, hardly anything over flesh and blood and bone. The trust that Poe's showing him, literally offering his throat, is beautiful.

He's remembering every good thing about Poe, like love is sifting back into him, lightly but thoroughly, transforming everything.

Finn has to pause to renew the lather on the right side. He's just about finished doing that when Poe shifts a little to make room for him, drawing up his right knee and turning at the waist. 

"Here," he says, voice a little hoarse. They're both speaking more quietly than they had been, like they're in the middle of making love, eyes darting, determined to keep going and not scare the other off.

"Thanks," Finn says, wiping the knife on the shirt. "Okay, almost there --" He cups Poe's bare cheek with one hand, drawing taut the skin with his thumb, and draws the blade up in quick, short strokes.

Poe leans into the pressure of Finn's hand, his eyes drifting shut. The wrinkles between his eyebrows relax gradually, filling up, smoothing out.

"Good," Finn breathes, pulling down Poe's upper lip and working on the mustache. Under his thumb, through the lip, Poe's teeth are hard, a little sharp. Impossible to ignore, like an animal's. Porcelain skull, breakable skin, ripping teeth. "Hold it -" 

When he's finished, Poe is streaked with soap, his face alternately ruddy and paler than normal. His eyes are still closed, lashes heavy on his cheeks. Finn daubs him clean, gently, getting every trace. When he pulls away, slinging the wet shirt over his shoulder, Poe inclines forward as if Finn'd removed his main buttress.

"Shit, sorry --" Poe looks around, smacking his lips, a little startled. "Wait, you're _done_?"

"Told you I knew what I was doing," Finn says, drying the knife and stowing it away, tossing out the rest of the soapy water, then rubbing the shirt over the sweat on his face.

"And I told _you_ I knew that," Poe says. He touches his cheeks with two fingertips, almost gingerly. Then, reassured, his slaps himself a few times. "Whoa, it's great! It's so _smooth_."

"No more itch," Finn says, sitting back on his heels. "You're going to have to find something new to complain about."

"There's so much, I'll never lack for inspiration!" Poe shrugs and spreads out his good arm. "But I'm going to start with the obvious."

Finn grins and straightens his back, throwing back his shoulders. "I'm ready. Hit me with it."

"You didn't kiss me."

"You know a lot of barbers who make out with you?"

Poe waves his hand dismissively. "You'd be surprised, actually."

"I think I would, yeah."

"You can test the quality of a shave, though, best with the lips." Poe leans all the way in. "They're really sensitive. Much more than fingers."

"You never complained about my fingers before," Finn replies, closing the rest of the distance.

"I'm not complaining." Poe angles his head and brushes his lips against Finn's. "This isn't complaining."

"No," Finn says, smiling, and Poe's smile spreads with his own. "It's not." He kisses Poe then, opening his mouth, wrapping his arm around Poe's good shoulder, pulling him over until he's on top of Finn.

Poe murmurs happily, rubbing his smooth, oversensitive cheeks and chin all over Finn's face and neck. "This feels great. This is _so good_. Next time you have to do our pubes."

Finn pushes him up a little so he can see clearly. "Yeah?"

Poe nods. "Preferably not with the knife. But in a pinch --"

"Nice," Finn says, craning up to kiss the new, ever-sharper line of Poe's jaw. The skin is almost painfully smooth; he thinks about what that would feel like, on his balls, on his _ass_ , and groans. "Definitely doing that."

"Told you," Poe says, because he has a strange, almost atavistic need to get the last word _every single time_. "Right?"

"Right, certainly, to be sure, absolutely," Finn tells him, working his mouth down Poe's chest. "Hey, turn around?"

"But then I can't see you --"

"But this way I can get at your ass," Finn says, and maybe he's using his Very Reasonable Not to Be Argued With tone again, but Poe doesn't get cranky. He gets surprised, his mouth opening, grin going crooked, and that's much better. He shuffles around to plaster himself against the wreck's fuselage, leaning his weight on his good arm and spreading his knees.

"Like this?" He looks over his hurt shoulder, and even though his tone is light, his face is flushed already, his eyes intent. His trousers are loose on his hips - he must have opened them as he moved - and slip down his thighs with one tug by Finn.

"Like that," Finn says. He was half-hard a while ago; now he's well past, fully gone, _aching_. "Just like that."

"You're really intense." It's far from a complaint. Something like an observation twined around a rhetorical question. 

"I guess." Finn runs his hands down Poe's sides, watching his ribs stand out as he takes a breath, feeling the muscles shift as he exhales and pushes back a little. Doesn't matter how many times he touches Poe, in whatever circumstances, it's always slightly exhilarating, this low, impossible-to-ignore _thrill_ , as if he's getting away with something. He tucks himself against Poe for a moment, face in the undercurve of his arm, inhaling and nuzzling on his armpit until Poe twitches and giggles. Stinky in there, thick and heady. Finn sits back, tracing the planes of his shoulders and back, slowly, all the way to the hollow over his ass. All that good feeling - he'll call it love later, when there's time to think that through - that sifted into him and filled him up during the shave is in motion throughout him, tingling in his fingertips, curving his palms around Poe's narrow hips.

Poe's ass is several shades paler than the rest of him, narrow in breadth but full and curved. The sight of it, so pale, inspires a vague sort of tenderness, but also urgency, _need_. His head drops, shoulders heaving, as Finn touches the cheeks, massages them, spreads them apart to expose the slick crack decorated with curling hair.

That's what the shaving reminded him of. This held-breath stillness, goosebumps active across Poe's body, Finn's own focus, need sharpening into action. Except here, when he acts, leading with his tongue, Poe had _better_ move or something's wrong.

He's moving. He's definitely moving. He's thrusting back, banging his head on the fuselage, reaching around to hold himself open, rising to meet Finn's mouth. And he's talking, an accelerating babble of terrifically dirty things punctuated by "Finn" and "fuck" and "fuck me, _Finn_ ".

Finn could do this for hours, and plans to, biting on the inside curves of Poe's buttocks, spreading him wider with his face, slicking and sucking his hole until it's open, until it's tugging on the tip of his tongue. He's bent at the waist, teasing at Poe's crack, sometimes full-on suckling, pushing him into a high-pitched whine of chittering nonsense, then easing him down until Poe has crawled to the left and is lying forward, braced on his hand, offering his ass up to Finn, his spine undulating.

"Pretty good, right?" Finn asks when the shadows have doubled in length and BB-8 has powered down out of boredom and Poe's no longer fully moving, just twitching and yelping every now and then. 

"Fuck," Poe says, so hoarsely it doesn't sound like language at first. "I think I came like four times."

"Nah," Finn says as he squeezes his thumb and forefinger in a tight ring around the base of Poe's cock. "You'll know when you do."

"I totally did," Poe says and he _sounds_ like he'd like to argue. Later, maybe in several days, when he's gotten his strength back. "You're so mean to me."

"Yeah," Finn says and sighs heavily before he bites the very center of Poe's right ass-cheek and jerks his cock three times, fast. "I'm the worst. I'm just so awful."

Poe rises, torso lengthening, then wavers a bit until he realizes Finn is holding him around the waist. Then he just rests against Finn's chest, hips pumping, mouth opening on a silent moan. Finn sucks on the side of his throat while Poe arches and shoots, coming all over the fuselage, his belly, Finn's hand.

Finn helps him back down, propping him on the overturned cookery basin, then runs his sticky hand up and down Poe's crack. Poe inhales sharply, laughing a little, and wiggles.

"You're the _best_ ," he says thickly, rocking back to Finn's touch. "You _are_ , I'm not even exaggerating, I'm --. _Oh_. Oh, FUCK." Finn slicks and stretches him with two fingers, before pushing inside with a quick, anxious thrust. "Finn!"

"Yeah," Finn agrees. "Yeah, it's --"

It's not going to be long, not at all. His dick was already copiously sticky and achily throbbing thanks to more than hour spent eating Poe out. As he sinks inside, too slowly, never slowly enough, but not fast enough _either_ , he's holding onto Poe by the hip and the shoulder. Poe's twisting around, fucking back, rubbing his smooth cheek on Finn's sticky hand. One eye, half his mouth, that's all that's visible. 

All Finn can see is the flicker of Poe's tongue and flirtatious wink of his eye. Groaning, his grasp flexing and tightening, he fucks harder, pushing Poe's ass down, angling so sharply that Poe's mouth opens and twists and he starts _panting_ , squeezing off Finn's cock, milking him; he bites Finn's hand, the meat of his thumb, and drops his hips farther, moaning, hips shuddering in a dry shoot. As Finn comes, holding Poe against him, tight and deep and _hard_ , he's shouting, too. That's the plummet, the drop from certainty in what Finn knows and feels - emotion, sensation - off the edge into the dizzy plunge of _he wants this, too, he's right here with me_.

There's black and then bright things streaking across his vision. His kneecaps are grinding painfully, his breath whistling, when he comes back to himself and loosens his hold on Poe. Poe leans back anyway, coming with him, eyes closed, mouth slack.

"Your shoulder okay?" Finn asks, then sucks in a breath, bites his lip, and pulls out. Poe mutters, then sticks out his tongue. "No, I'm serious, is it okay?"

"My shoulder's great," Poe murmurs. "Just think you should still be inside."

"Let me wash up, rest, maybe eat," Finn says, helping Poe turn around, pulling up both their trousers, settling him against his chest. "Got to keep up my strength."

"Or," Poe says sleepily, not even bothering to open his eyes, "you could just keep fucking me and forget about all that life-sustaining bantha-shit."

"I'll consider it." Finn turns Poe's face, checking the quality of his shave, admiring the guy's inherent, fucking _radiant_ beauty, before closing his own eyes. Good work all around, really.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr, where it's 92% stormpilot all the time: [@spaceoperafeerie](http://spaceoperafeerie.tumblr.com/).


End file.
